Belief in Belief

The power of believing is tantamount to living. Believing doesn’t have to be in a religion, but it can be. I find that believing in general is important.

Last year, I felt like a dog, in some respects. People talked to me when it was easy. The second I wasn’t useful, I was thrown away like a paper plate. Sometime in spring, our science class went on a field trip to a nature park; I was walking with my “friends,” Vanessa and Claire. I was making them laugh, which is exactly what I always do. That’s who I am. That’s what I’m known for. Finally, when I wanted to stop being funny, the two of them just walked away.

Though my feelings were hurt, I tried to act the same. I was afraid of not living up to people’s views of me. Since everyone thought of me as the one who was always ecstatic and hilarious, I wanted to be just that. I felt that if I stopped acting overly happy, it would make things worse. I called this act “sugar-coating.” I fancied I was a miserable person, who had a unique suffering all his own. While I was crying on the inside, it was my duty to cover it up with my “natural” effervescent personality. So this is what I did. I didn’t believe that there was a way for me to be happier, and so it worked for a while.

What I didn’t realize is that my mind works like a balloon. It holds all of its air on the inside, but it can only hold so much. Soon, my balloon exploded, and I had a meltdown. My tears streamed down my cheeks like a torrential downpour, accompanied by thunderous sobs that nearly choked me. Near the end of the storm, I came to terms with the worst part: this build-up of feelings, even the emotions that began them in the first place, were self-induced. I let myself be this way. I had to change my beliefs, change how I viewed myself.

With the help of two or three real friends, I believed it was possible to switch my focus from my acquaintances to my friends. I believed that there was a way to be happier. For the last few weeks of eighth grade, and the summer, I had lived a better life.

However, in August, I was once again thrown. I moved to a new state. My friends were now three hours away (a seemingly small ways away, but still so far). Now the thought of them is like a music box that slows before the song ends. Soon, I will see them, though. And that, once again, reaffirms my beliefs. I am happy once more, because I believe in something.

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This week’s essay

Growing up in the former Yugoslavia, lawyer Djenita Pasic enjoyed the peace of her religiously diverse country. But after the fall of communism and the outbreak of the Bosnian War, Pasic was forced to reevaluate her ideas about religion and tolerance. Click here to read her essay.